Reciprocity
by NicolinaN
Summary: Lisa feels haunted and is having problems getting back to normal after the red eyeincident. Jackson nurtures his hate and plans his revenge. When they finally meet again it's bound for disaster. JxL in a way, but not the usual. Warning: violence, rape.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Lisa feels haunted and is having problems getting back to normal after the red eye-incident. Jackson nurtures his hate and plans his revenge. When they finally meet again it's bound for disaster. JxL in a way, but not the usual. Warnings for violence, rape, and foul language.

**Chapter 1**

'_August 11, 2005_

_Today marked the passing of a month...' _

I hesitate; watch the tip of the pen. It trembles. I go on to study my knuckles; all the tiny bruises are almost completely healed. I stretch involuntarily, like I've done so many times, and realize that I haven't been thinking about my back for several days. Soon there'll be no more evidence of what took place.

Physical evidence, that is.

'…_passing of a month… and he…' _

A shudders passes through me and I can't shake the feeling that someone's watching me. _Get a hold of yourself, Lisa. No one's watching you. HE is probably far, far away. And why would he come after you anyway? Even the FBI thought it was 'highly unlikely'. That's what they said. 'A trained assassin, a professional, hired for a job like this, to kill a political target, using you merely as means to an end. He'll be long gone by now. It's our conclusion that it's highly unlikely that he'll take the risk of lingering just for revenge. It wouldn't fit the profile.' _

Highly. Unlikely.

I cling to those words like a drowning would cling to a life boat. I repeat them every morning as I cross the parking lot to get to my car, and I keep repeating them every night when I put the key in my lock, open the door and search my home before I even take off my shoes or put down my purse.

Highly. Unlikely.

'…_he hasn't shown. That's a good thing. Now that this day has come to an end, it's like a stone has been lifted off my shoulders. What's next? Two months? A year? Surely, when a year has passed I will have put this behind me? No.' _I shake my head as I keep writing._ 'No question. I will. I make my own decisions. I took control.' _Nausea rises within me, as always as I recollect the rape two years ago. I swallow hard. The only good thing about that was that it probably fuelled my anger at being assaulted again enough to make me fight back._ 'This time I did it. This time, I beat him. I saved everybody…'_

I stop abruptly.

_Who saves you?_

Biting my lower lip I frown and lift the pen off the page, placing it carefully on the bedside table. Then I slam the journal shut with a little more force than intended and tuck it under my mattress. I don't know who I'm hiding it from since I live alone, but I've learnt that even walls can have eyes and ears. As I stretch out a leg, a pillow falls off my bed. I bend to retrieve it, and again, I get the chilling sensation that someone sees me, as if there's someone else in the actual room with me. I dart upwards and glance around, the pillow pressed to my chest, it feels like my heart just turned into a caged animal and is now trying to hammer its way out.

I see absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.

Nothing.

A cozy room surrounds me, decorated during happier times; warm colors, a quite large bed with lots of pillows on it, an armchair in a romantic fabric with roses on white, a little bedside table, a heavy cupboard in dark oak, displaying pictures of family, a few books, and some of the old prizes I won in high school. It's quiet. I have looked through the apartment as usual when I got home earlier this evening, it's like a reflex, and I know there's no one in here but me.

And yet.

Suspiciously, I turn to the two windows. My eyes narrow. The curtains are already halfway covering them. I take a few quick strides through the room and snap them fully closed.

Better. That's definitely better. I feel safer.

I nod to myself and feel some of the tension leaving my body.

I would have wanted to take a bath, really. I could have used the warm water to relax my stiff muscles, but it's late and I'm tired, so I decide for a shower. I bend my neck to the right and stretch it, hearing and feeling it crack. Then I bend it as far as it goes to the left, this time without the desired snaps of the vertebrae.

A shower. Just a quickie.

I close the bathroom door behind me, undress fast and pull the shower curtain closed, my heart beating.

_Lisa, you're being silly. Today is over. _

_He didn't show._

::_  
_

She doesn't know I'm watching her. She doesn't know of my plans and the hate that's been growing in my heart. Hate nurtured by the slowly subsiding ache in my throat, the flesh wound in my side, and the fact that SHE seems to be getting along so fucking fine.

So. Fucking. Peachy.

Peachy life in a peachy home.

Or, maybe she does know. I've seen her looking over her shoulder, seen her search her place every night after work, seen her flinch when someone's standing too close behind. One day soon, that'll be no stranger. One day soon, that'll be me.

I grin at the thought, but I feel no joy, only grim satisfaction.

In my mind, she's already dead. She just doesn't know it yet.

I stroke my knife that lies neatly in front of me. I've pictured it so many times; cutting through the pale skin of her chest, coloring her belly crimson as rivulets of warm blood gushes over it; her surprised face that just about realizes what's happened before she falls before me.

Then I'll be free.

I watch her turn on the shower. That's new. She usually soaks in a bath for a long time; like she's dirty. She cleans a lot, mornings and evenings, and after working out. If there's something on this earth Lisa Reisert is not, it's dirty.

Listening to the almost deafening sounds from the water pouring down in her bathroom, I feel a new energy enter my chest and my pulse quickens; the waiting is over. Soon is now. I snap my laptop closed and disconnect it.

Then I move.

It's time.

::

The hot water feels cleansing on my skin, my tired back and loins. I turn my face up and let it pour until I have to bend slightly to the side to breathe. I try to enjoy every single act that makes up my life, for I know that I've escaped death twice. The lather is rich and smells of vanilla and jasmine. It's a bit overly feminine for my taste, but it was a gift from my mother and I might as well use it up.

A raw chill suddenly slithers down my spine, in spite of the moist heat surrounding me, and I stiffen. I open a small gap in the curtain and glance out, but all I see is my empty, steam-filled, bathroom.

The soothing effect of the shower is gone, however, and I turn the knobs, hot and cold, and watch the last drops leave in the drain in front of my toes.

The apricot-colored towel is warm and soft. My head feels fuzzy and my eye-lids heavy. I think I can sleep tonight.

That would be bliss.

Wrapping the towel around my head, I put on the pajama I brought along. It's been a favorite for a long time: checkered, long legs, a top, and a long-sleeved shirt on top of that. I like the security it gives me with all the fabric covering my skin. I know why I feel the need for that safety, and maybe that's not entirely a good thing, but I see no reason to work on it. I need to choose my battles.

I brush my teeth, and study my reflection in the mirror. I've seen a few new fine lines between my eyebrows lately. Trouble lines. It's been a while since I had a hearty laugh. My thoughts stray to the forbidden.

To HIM.

To the latest, and maybe greatest, reason why I can't feel joy any more.

_Jackson Rippner._

I always try not to think his name.

I always fail.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Carefully, I put the makeshift key in the lock of her front door and twist it. My hand actually trembles slightly. It annoys me. _Focus! _The mechanism obediently clicks open like every time before and I nod satisfied. This will be the last time I pass through this door, the last time I'll need the key.

_You really should have learnt to take better care of yourself, Lisa. _

But soon that won't matter anyway.

It was easy enough to get into her locker at work and make a copy of the key. The bitch tried to shut me out, ME, by changing the lock in her door after the attack on the hotel. It took me four days to get back inside.

Four.

Fucking.

Days.

I snarl inaudibly and scratch the healed, but still raw, scar on my neck; it seems to itch every time I think about HER.

_Lisa Reisert._

And I think about her a lot.

_Lisa Reisert._

I've kept repeating her name like a mantra to keep my edge. To stay alert. To never forget what needs to be done.

_Lisa Reisert._

The moist heat from her showering slaps me in the face as I enter her hallway. It smells of flowers, a thick, sickly sweet odor. I wrinkle my nose in disgust. This is how she smells these days? I remember her scent from the plane. Pleasant. Feminine. Young.

Well, later she stank of sweat.

They all do after spending some quality time with me.

The bathroom is right in front of me, and it would be awkward if she'd step out at this moment. The shower is still making a thundering noise, though, and I'm able to shut the door quietly behind me and walk into her bedroom. I know where I'll wait. I've known for as long as I can remember.

Caressing the knife I've attached to my belt, I listen as she moves in the bathroom, the shower still clattering. A shiver trickles down my back and I feel something akin to arousal.

_Soon, Lisa._

I feel almost giddy; this will soon be over. I keep seeing her before me, entering the room, totally unaware that I'm standing behind the door and that she's about to draw her last breath.

_Soon-soon-soon…_ I fiddle impatiently with the knife's sheath, my heart beating the rhythm of the words. I haven't felt this good in a long time. I can't recall when a job ever gave me the sense of excitement and completion that I experience at this moment. I look around the room, the little hairs at my arms stand straight up as I hear the sudden silence after the shower has been turned off.

I slide into place.

_Do I talk first? Give her the scare of her life? Do I put the blade to her throat the first thing I do, or do I wait for the right moment? When exactly IS the right moment? Choices, choices…_

I revel in the thrill.

Bending my head back, facing the ceiling, I close my eyes and inhale slowly. My fingers feel the contour of the knife through the jacket.

Then I exhale.

And wait.

::

I wash my face in ice cold water for a long time, rubbing my eyes hard, almost as if trying to erase the pain I saw in them. Finally my hands and cheeks are numb, my skin is raw, and I feel clean. After drying the wetness off, I glance up and meet my reflection in the mirror again. My eyes are green, I know they are, and yet a flash of intense blue haunts me every time I meet my own gaze.

_I hate you! _

I shake my head, trying to erase the memory, and throw the towel on the hanger. _Enough of this!_ I resolutely open the bathroom door and turn off the lights, sending me tumbling into the almost complete darkness of my hallway.

_I'm fine. _

I Inhale.

_One. Two. Three. Four._

Steps to my bedroom door.

With my hand on the door knob, I stop. Before I go to bed tonight I just want to sit in my living room for a little while with a cup of tea and read a few pages in the book I bought yesterday. I want to savor the fact that it's been one month; that time passes and life goes on.

Then I can sleep.

I think.

I exhale and turn around. In almost complete darkness I walk to my little kitchen in the other end of the hallway.

Putting the water kettle to use, I then turn on the little lamp in the window. The greenish lamp shade flickers to life, as does its reflection in the dark window.

It's soothing to hear the water start to boil. It's an act of normalcy. I choose a green tea with lemon flavor that I know won't keep me awake. I glance at the clock on the microwave oven. It's already ten to twelve. It's too late already. This will be a short sitting.

Pouring the hot water, I then dip the tea bag in the cup and bring it with me to the couch in the adjacent living room. I leave the lights off. The book remains on the coffee table. I can't focus on reading anyway.

I sip on the hot fluid. It's quiet. Outside it has begun to rain and I listen to the sound of the drops hitting my window. The peacefulness calms my restless heart and when the cup is half empty, I put it down.

It's time.

I need to sleep. It's well past midnight now and tomorrow is a working day. I leave the cup on the table and the little light burning in the kitchen window and start towards my bedroom again.

I inhale deeply.

_God, I hope I can sleep tonight._

I reach out for the door.

Open. Enter. Close.

Exhale.

_The Ripper! Jackson! JACKSON!_

I SEE.

HIM!

And finally, it's for real.

He's behind my door! In MY bedroom! I can't believe my eyes. My heart slams irregularly in my chest, and I tremble. I can't breathe.

_NO!_

I back. I scream. My mouth goes dry. It's the nightmare from my father's kitchen all over again. Jackson Rippner is standing in my bedroom, and this time it isn't my imagination. The sound of my own holler pierces through the silent room before it turns into a roar of pure anger.

_I do NOT accept this!_

"NO!"

He smirks and takes a step closer to me, blocking the only exit as he moves. "Oh, yes, Leese," he rasps, his voice low and barely above a whisper.

My eyes dart quickly between him and the door. _No, he'd get me._ I back again, my legs hitting the chair behind me. I twist around, grab it and hurl it across the room, hitting him God knows where, as I scream at him.

"You are NOT in my home! You are NOT here! You… BASTARD!" I grab the next object I feel behind my back, throwing it hard at him. One of my field hockey trophies flashes of silver in the air between us. "LEAVE!" I roar.

Jackson flails, evading the flying objects in my bedroom, and takes a giant leap forward, grabbing my upper arms before I can reach anything larger. Or sharper.

"You fucking deceitful BITCH," he snarls close to my ear, pulling me into his painful embrace. I loathe the feeling of the hot air from his breath on my cheek and turn my head away, twisting in his grip.

"You disgust me," I whisper. "Following me, spying on me, barging into MY house, MY home..." I swallow hard and turn to look him straight in the eyes. "You're pathetic, JACK. You're truly a small, pathetic human being. Get out. Let me go and get OUT." I scream the last word.

I'm not prepared for the hit. He slams his forehead onto my nose and I more feel than hear it crack. The pain is worse than anything I can remember. Staggering backwards, I slide partially out of his grip when my knees buckle. As I feel the sharp edge on my throat, just above where the clavicles meet, I begin to tremble.

_'He held a knife to my throat... the whole time...' _In a flash I re-live the horrors from the parking lot two years ago.

_No… no…_

My eyes dart up to meet his oddly blue gaze; his face is twisted in rage, his nostrils widened and his lips pressed together.

It strikes me how attractive I found him when we first met, and it amazes me what hate can do to a person's features. There's nothing beautiful about him now. Not here, not tonight.

"Leese," he breathes. "I don't plan to go anywhere. I did p- plan to do this quick-" He's so angry that he stutters. "-but you will suffer for that."

His hold on my arm is bruisingly hard and I hiss as I feel the sting when the knife breaks through the tender skin on my throat.

_Ow…._

I stiffen.

Focus.

Instead of the paralyzing fear for my life that I would have thought I'd feel, an eerie calm suddenly washes over me. He can kill me, but he can't win this.

I smirk.

"P-p-p-plan," I taunt. "Are you so excited about finally holding me in your arms that you stutter like a little boy? DID you stutter when you were little? Hm? JACK? When all the other little boys called you names…" I stare straight into the blue hatred that pours over me. "Well, kill me then, if that's what you want so badly. Go ahead."

He shakes me violently. "Shut the FUCK up, Leese! You have no idea what I'm capable of. You don't know a fraction of it!"

I grit my teeth, steeling myself from the numbing pain in my arm and shoulder. "Words, words, words," I sigh demonstratively, ignoring my fluttering heart. "If you're SO capable, then why am I still alive, huh? Why are we still talking? I just don't think you can do it. I think you're afraid. I don't think you've ever killed. You're just this wannabe-"

I can't help the scream when his fist connects with my jaw and my head rocks to the side. A metallic taste fills my mouth.

"Shut UP!" he snarls.

I feel pure hate as I spit the blood straight in his face. It's a weird kind of satisfaction to see all the little red dots tainting his skin.

I want to slam my head back in his face, claw my nails on his skin until I shred it and his blood pours. I want to hear HIM scream. I want to hurt him the way he's hurt me!

_Well KILL me, already! _

_Or I'll kill YOU._


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

I can't believe it.

I'm Alice in Fucking Wonderland.

Jack in Lisaland.

And she's like the leering Cheshire-cat. I just can't seem to get her scared, and it drives me furiously insane.

I had planned this. I knew how it would play out, every last detail of it until she lay bleeding and defeated at my feet. And now she's... she's... she's like she was back at her father's house when I came to kill her after the flight... when everything went wrong. The mere thought of THAT makes my heart race with rage.

And then she had me waiting for her behind the door. A fucking half hour I stood there, passively, my concentration shattering, turning into restlessness, my anger turning into hurt from the nonchalance with which she treated me.

ME!

_I want to… I need to… she… _

I shake her, and she laughs. I cut her, and she teases me. I break her nose and she spits the fucking blood right back in my face!

I'm going crazy. It's her fault. And I can't bring myself to force the knife deeper into her throat. To kill her. Even the little cut I made had me trembling with exhaustion.

Almost fear.

_Oh, you're so wrong, Leese. I have killed. _

I just haven't been laughed at doing it!

_Is that a smirk on her lips? _

_You little..._ A new rage fills my heart. The feeling of losing control, of quickly descending into nobody-land, washes over me like heated lava. A high pitched noise wheezes in my ears and I hear myself roar.

"You'll WISH I had killed you, Lisa! You'll BEG me to!"

::

The knife disappears from my throat. Then he backhands me across my mouth and grabs both of my arms again, half shoving, half throwing me on my bed. I scramble backwards on the mattress while the tip of my tongue examines the soreness on the inside of my cheek. A tiny, tiny new fear nibbles at my heart, but I refuse to let the thought take form.

_He wouldn't._

Jackson sets one knee down on my bed and I kick out, hitting his chest. Hard.

"Fucking HELL!" He grips my ankle and presses it down. I squirm and kick with the other leg, this time hitting his chin. His head rocks back from the force, and I know that must've hurt.

Time stills for a moment.

An eternity.

We stare at each other; me in terror, him in disbelief turning into fury.

Then he's on me with a roar.

I flail, fending off his hands that try to catch my arms. My legs already hurt where he sits on them, but I barely feel it. THIS is a fight I can't afford to lose. Squirming underneath him, I almost manage to get my knees bent and my legs up when he scrambles on top of me, pressing my body down with his. I push at his chest, but this time he catches my arms in his hands, slamming them down on the mattress above my head.

"Jackson," I hear myself croak pathetically.

He smirks. "What's the matter, Leese? Isn't this cozy?" He grounds his hips into mine and to my fright I feel a hard length pushing insistently against the lower part of my belly.

_He's…. NO!_

I choke on whatever I was about to say. I have no snide remarks left.

::

She will pay for every word, every hit, every little piece of that cocky fucking attitude. If the fucking rapist didn't break her, then I will. I realize it would've been too easy to let her off with death. Arousal like I've never felt it before surges through me as I throw her on the bed and push her down until she stops moving.

_Leese, you disappoint me. Are you gonna be all dead fish on me now? Where's the famous flare?_

Feeling her curves under my hips it hits me: I've had an almost painful hard-on since I decided to go in, knowing she was naked in the shower, knowing I was soon to hold her, cut her, hurt her.

Kill her.

I inhale deeply and feel her squirm beneath me.

I'm too excited. My blood races through my vessels. I gotta do something with all that energy. And SHE needs to be punished.

_You've never raped before, that'd be a new low._

It's a tiny little voice at the back of my head, and I silence it easily. This isn't rape. She's practically begging me to do it, taunting me, touching me, squirming underneath me like that.

She's fucking beautiful where she lies; her red hair splayed across the white bedspread, her green eyes flaring, her cheeks blushing, a few drops of blood on her chin.

I wanted to fuck her ever since I first lay my eyes on her. And she was so cold. Controlled. Well, she's mine now, mine to do whatever I want with, and my loins ache at the thought of burying myself in her softness, at the thought of being the one in control.

I bend forward and press my lips against hers; savoring the scents of flowers and fear she exudes.

The pain is unexpected and I throw myself backwards to escape while I suck on my lower lip, tasting the blood.

_YOU…_

This means war.

::

I've seen that look before.

In another man.

I can't believe it's happening again, and I wish I hadn't driven him so far. If I had just let him take the control he wanted this might've been over with already. The fighting has left me short of breath and my chest heaves against his as he seems to be studying me.

I want desperately to beg him not to, but the words won't come out of my mouth. I will never, ever beg. I refuse to give him that satisfaction. I'll rather die.

I freeze.

_Will you rather be raped? _

His body is hard against mine; his hips cuts into my flesh and his hold around my wrists are painful. I'm terrifyingly aware of his closeness, of his scent, his persisting stiffness against my pubic bone, and the hot air on my face. It repulses me. I haven't been this close to a man, to anybody, since… since…

S_ince the last time I fought you…_

For a moment he is breathtakingly beautiful. It's as if his eyes soften and the hard lines around his mouth disappear.

_Nononono!_ There's no way I'm letting that happen. He is NOT human, there's NOTHING forgiving in him.

I'm temporarily stunned as he bends forward and kisses me. Tries to, that is. I open my mouth slightly and then I clamp my teeth down hard on his lower lip.

The roar that follows is my brief reward.

Brief.

My heart tries to pound its way out of my chest as I stare at him, my legs tremble and I hold my breath. I'm not very eager to know what the consequences will be.

He slaps me hard across the cheek and my head rocks back from the impact. It hurts. I'm already sore and I can't help grunting from pain. Then, in one move, he grabs the collars of both of my pajama tops and rips them apart. The sudden flash of cold air on my chest makes my nipples stiffen and goosebumps erupt. I yelp and struggle to get my hands up to cover my nakedness from him, to protect myself, but he slams my arms down on the mattress above my head and hold them in one of his hands. With his free hand he grips my chin and forces me to look at him. I try to bend my head away, but he only tightens his hold.

"Well… isn't this sweet? You, all sweaty and soft in bed with me. And look at those things you've been hiding all this time." His hand slides from my chin down along my throat, passing the scar and then grabs my right breast squeezing it. I buckle and twist underneath his weight to try to get him off me, to try to get his hand away from my skin.

I focus on trying to divert him instead of feeling what he's doing to my body. "I hate you!" I hiss.

"Good," he snarls. "That's reciprocal."

"I don't think so," I spit. "I think you're obsessed with me, I don't think you can live without me!"

God, how I wish I'm wrong. But something inside me screams I'm right.

He grins.

"Ohhh, trying to get to me, are we?" He leans closer to my face, his hand continuously kneading my breast way too rough. I want to beg him to stop, or at least to take it easier, but I can't. I won't. I refuse to give him my soul. He lets go of my poor flesh and puts his hand on my forehead instead, pressing my head down hard. His lips touch mine. "I'm kissing you again," he says in a low, raspy voice. "And you're not biting me."

"Dare me," I snarl.

"If you hurt me, I'll head straight to your daddy after we're through here and have a little one-on-one with him. And I can't promise I won't hurt him, Leese."

"You wouldn't!"

His eyes lit up. "Try me."

I won't.

Mutely, I shake my head, trying to turn away from him and avoid the inevitable. But he won't let me. His whole body is pressed against mine as he kisses me again, forcing his tongue into my mouth. It's a rough kiss, our teeth collide and it seems as he steals the very air from my lungs with his sinister passion. He tastes unfamiliar, masculine, clean.

I have to fight myself not to bite off his tongue.

His hand slides downwards from my forehead, past my cheek, my throat, the scar. I squirm as he squeezes my breast once more, hard, his fingers digging into me, pinching, twisting. I brace myself from the pain.

He's still forcing his kiss on me, even though it has softened slightly, as he lets his hand glide further along the side of my belly and then push inside my pajama pants.

I think I may have been shocked by the last minutes and the frightening development this has taken, but now I wake, fully on alert.

_NO! NO!_

I begin to wriggle and twist beneath him, struggling with his hand that holds my wrists, trying to get free, trying to get him off me. I refuse. I refuse to let this happen to me. Not again.

_Not YOU! _


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

I whimper. His hand finds its way inside my panties and I feel his fingers threading through the little area of hair before they slip further, touching my most private parts, and I gasp from the unwanted intrusion, from the pain he's causing me.

I scream. Loud. I buckle and twist, cursing him and God.

"You don't want to do this," I pant. "This isn't what you do."

_Not me. Not again. Not you. _

Unceremoniously, he thrusts his fingers inside me, passing through the vulnerable entrance I've tried so hard to shield, and I feel like I'm being ripped open. His fingers move; his curling them, stroking, touching, feeling, pressing. Deeper. In and out. In and out. He breathes heavily, pushing against me, and I feel all of him; his rage, his hate, his desire and arousal.

I want to vomit.

_Don't. Don't. Don't._

I beg him, beg for my life or what's left of it, but no words pass my lips.

My wrists ache where he's holding them. There's wetness in the corners of my eyes, and I squeeze my eyelids tightly shut. I'm not crying. Not before him. Not now. Not ever.

"It is now, Leese," he pants. "You brought this on yourself, you know, with your… cocky, fucking attitude. You should've just-" He push deeper, stretching me painfully. "Obeyed me." His breath is hot on my face and his voice hoarse. His eerily blue eyes glint with malice and something more that I don't want to put words to. Every intake of air, every syllable, reverberates through my chest. I shake my head, my throat aching too much from the held-back tears for words to come out.

I'm sore. His fingers are hurting me. It's a relief as he removes his hand, but when he begins to pull at the waist of my pants my inside clenches, and my heart rate quickens so much that all I hear is a high pitched white noise.

"Stopitstopitstopit," I moan, barely above a whisper, squirming as I try to avoid the feel of his skin on mine._ No_ _STOP!_ I slam my head up and try to hit his nose, but he's too fast. He darts back and smirks triumphantly at me, lifting an eyebrow. Then I spit at him.

"What the FUCK!" A glimpse of death flashes in his icy gaze. His upper lip curls as he regards me for a moment, and then he leans in and wipes the saliva off on my own cheek, his shadow of stubble scratching my skin.

I fight for my life, for my honor, for my soul, to get him off. He struggles to stay on top of me. I kick out, I throw my upper body from side to side, but he never lets go of my wrists that have started to become numb. When I get a leg partially free, I triumph momentarily and jerk it upwards, hitting his groin.

Considering the circumstances, that HAS to be a good thing.

He grunts and I almost feel the air leaving his lungs. I watch how his face changes color from white to greenish to red while a muscle in his jaw is working, twitching, clenching. I pull for all I'm worth to get my hands free, my skin getting even sorer. He's not letting go, though. Instead he changes method and abandons my pants, going for my throat instead.

His hand clamps down hard over my larynx, making it almost impossible for me to get enough air.

"Do you WANT to die, you fucking BITCH?" he snarls in my face, his voice strained, his lips curled with rage.

I can't reply.

All I can focus on is getting oxygen to my brain to keep from fainting. I still almost completely, only my chest hitches from the effort to inhale.

If I struggle I'll pass out. My breathing wheezes and I emit strange mewling sounds. He keeps his pressure.

He cocks his head and regards me; his eyes wander from my face, down my chest and then further before he meets my gaze again.

"Good girl," he whispers, regaining some of his previous superiority. There's almost a smile grazing his lips. He looks satisfied. Then he finally let go of my arms and starts with his free hand to tug down my pants along with my underwear. It takes two or three rough yanks before he's got them all they way down to my ankles, then he pushes them off entirely with his feet.

And I am naked.

Bared.

I'm beginning to wish that my mind would shut off, like it more or less did two years ago. But it was easier then. I was more shocked, weaker, more taken with what was happening. And I had never seen that man before.

THIS one I have history with. I've dealt with him before. And I WON. That can happen again. I'm not as shocked as I'm angry. I can win this, even though my chances are beginning to look bleak.

He brutally presses one knee in between my thighs. His jeans rasp and pinch my skin when I try to keep my legs together. I fail and feel his knee pushing all the way up to connect with the apex of my thighs, pressing, rubbing, pushing, intimidating… I get the horrible notion that he's trying to thrust his knee inside me… like a foreboding of what's to come.

I feel everything, and I barely feel anything. I'm at the same time numb and over sensitized. I want to push at his chest and get him off me, or cover up and protect my tender flesh, but I'm busy struggling with his hand that's clenched tightly around my throat. I try desperately to pry free from his hold, to get a little more air.

"Just relax, Leese. The more you struggle, the more it'll hurt," he says coldly. It doesn't sound like he's really concerned for my well-being.

I glare at him in response and he shrugs.

Jackson keeps the firm grip with his hand while he cocks his head and smirk at me. Then he starts to open his shirt from bottom to top with his free hand, one button at a time. I want to look away, but I can't help that my eyes flicker in his direction, it's like a twitch. There's a string of dark hair that disappears inside the waist of his pants, a fresh scar at his side, light brown, almost invisible, freckles on his shoulders. He's not a very large man, but I see muscles that are used to working. A body bent, shaped, for his will. For his awful 'job'. He radiates some kind of primal effectiveness.

Something animalistic.

Suddenly, he frightens me more than ever before. He's all flesh and blood, too real, too close. My own reality has ceased to exist and all that is me has been reduced to a throbbing heart, pain, torn flesh, and fear.

Fear of the unknown.

Fear of the all too well-known.

Fear of HIM.

::

She struggles like a little rabbit caught in a trap. It's all the more exciting. I don't know if she knows how all that wriggling has rubbed against my cock and how thoroughly that has doomed her. I WILL take her. I don't care if I have to beat her senseless, but she's mine. And I know what needs to be done.

Initially, I was furious. Now I'm in a haze of pleasure and power rush. I can do this. I can take her, finally get to her, make her regret every little fucking piece of cockiness she's ever had. Make her regret she was ever born.

_You're gonna remember me._

My lizard brain has set in, receiving signals from my groin, my hand around her slender wrists, and my other hand inside her warm sex. All I feel is how good her struggling body feels beneath me, how soft she is, and how sweet she smells. I don't think. I don't want to think. I don't have to think.

Her green eyes flare of hate, and it sets me on fire.

_You're going down. _

I'm not even sure whether I mean her…

…or me.

And I don't give a shit.

Feeling her inner walls trying to push my fingers out, and that slight moist that she probably doesn't even know she produces, sends wave after wave of triumphant arousal through me.

I ache to take her.

I almost choke her to death when I clamp down on her throat, realizing I don't exert full control over myself. I have to ease the pressure just a little. I'm not into necrophilia.

I'm not into anything. Not like this, but SHE has taken over my life since the last three months, and I can't allow that. I can't have anyone, or anything, distracting me. It's too dangerous. I… just can't.

And she fucking distracts.

She stills beneath me, refocusing on what's the more important thing: my hand on her throat. _Good girl._ I take the chance and yank down her pants. Hard. I can't help the groan that escapes my throat when I see her trimmed, naked thighs, the little triangle of dark hair where they meet, the rounding of her hips, her belly, her pale breasts shining with a thin layer of sweat… My belly aches and my pants feel even tighter. The need to take her NOW pounds inside me for each beat of my heart.

I start unbuttoning my shirt. Her eyes look bewildered as she watches me getting naked.

_Good._

The bitch needs to be taught a lesson. You don't fuck around with Jackson Rippner.

You subdue.

_And you'll subdue tonight._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

I'm choking.

I'm lightheaded from the lack of oxygen and my world spins. I have no idea if he just means for me to lie still and stop fighting, or if he actually intends to strangle me to death. My cheeks burn, my hands and feet tingle, my throat hurts immensely, and my pulse pounds hard against his palm.

I try to mouth to him to stop, but he ignores my silent plea. Instead he shrugs off his shirt, quickly changes his grip around my throat and then discards the fabric completely. It sails down onto the floor next to us, out of sight from where I lie.

I want to look away, but it's as if my eyes are locked with his. I have never seen such eyes before I met him. They are cold, vicious, and yet so vividly alive and… almost passionate. They seem to express so much, and I have no clue to how to interpret him. I've spent my time trying to forget him, and now I know I won't.

Ever.

Locked between his knee, tightly pressed against the apex of my thighs, and his hand at my neck, I still get renewed strength when his free hand starts to unbuckle his belt with jerky moves. The rattling metallic sounds reminding me of someone else. Another place. Two years ago. Where my first life ended.

_God! NO!_

But I can't.

I can't get away.

I can't get him off me.

I'm disgusted by my own helplessness. I, who had sworn it wouldn't happen again. I KNEW it would never happen again, because I wouldn't let it. And still it does.

He proceeds with the buttons in his jeans, one after the other, and I wince from fear and despair. Then, in one move, he pulls his pants down to his knees along with his jockeys and when I see his nakedness - and his swelling - I scream. No sounds come out, but I scream nonetheless and thrash from side to side to get away.

He leans forward, and I twitch when I feel the tip of his erection touch my naked belly.

"I can let you breathe, Leese, but you've got to stop the fucking wriggling."

My answer is a hiss and I claw at his face, giving him several sets of scratch marks on each cheek. His hand flies up to his face, his eyes narrow, and then he backhands me hard. My head explodes in pain.

"That was unnecessary," he says in a cold, controlled voice. "I hope this'll hurt, Lisa." He grips around my left thigh and tugs at it viciously, trying to pry my legs apart, his fingers bruising me. I fight to hold them together, but my head starts spinning, my vision falters, and I feel how my muscles gradually give up. He manages to press his other thigh in between mine and I know which road this will go down from now on.

_Nononononodon'tdon'tdon'tdon't!_

_Don't._

Tears begin to slip from the corners of my eyes and I abandon his choking hand to, in a last desperate attempt, push at his chest and try to hold him away.

His legs press mine apart wider, and I feel his heated stiffness pressing against my pubic bone, feel it slip lower and slide in to persistently push at my entrance.

I panic. Completely. My mind reels, and I throw myself from side to side, pressing my back against the mattress trying to escape.

He does lose his grip around my neck for a moment and I inhale a long, raspy, life-giving breath before he manages to get a hold again. He pushes on, misses, push, miss, slip, corrects his position and then, suddenly, he slips inside, just a fraction of the way, but he's in and I've lost. He thrusts forward in one horrible, triumphant move, and I still completely from the shock, the pain, and the humiliation.

I have nothing left. My mind swirls and the room spins. All I see is Jackson, and he wavers, fades.

My ears buzz and my tongue feels too large.

Every sound is too loud, they clank and hiss. A hole opens up beneath me.

I fall.

::

I try to be fucking nice and let her breathe, but she repays me by almost clawing my eyes out. I snap and hit her hard. Really hard.

Then I rip off my pants and force her legs apart.

_Uh!_

It's heaven. My cock twitches in anticipation when I feel her warm, soft flesh. I push myself in place between her silky thighs. She resists, but hasn't got much strength left. It's close now.

_Fucking hell!_

I know what goes where.

I know how a woman's built, and still it's so fucking difficult. She jerks and twitches under me and nothing I do seem to help and then, all of a sudden, I slip and we match. Beautifully. Her resistance gives way and I slide inside an inch. For a fraction of a second I halt, almost surprised at what I'm doing, and then I slam into her fully, devouring her warmth, her tightness, and her softness.

_Yes!_

I'm in bliss.

I barely notice that she stills and when I glance down to smirk at her with all the exquisite triumph I feel, I see that her eyes have rolled halfway back in their sockets and that her face is nearly purple.

_Fuck!_

I let go of her throat, wondering if I'm gonna have to give her fucking CPR, for a moment forgetting that I initially came to kill her as the primal goal.

She gasps and coughs. Tears flood her eyes and then fall along the side of her cheeks.

_Aww. _

She cries.

_Good._

She lives.

I begin to move in her. It's pure carnal ecstasy.

And I know I've won.

I won.

_Got you!_

::_  
_

I try to scream from the pain when he suddenly lets go of my throat and my consciousness returns, my nerve endings twitching to life, signaling from my whole body at once. I hurt everywhere. The first breath feels like inhaling razorblades. I squirm and cough, fresh air rushing into my lungs, saturating my brain and my weakened muscles. My reality comes back, and _he's_ in it.

He's in me.

He's_ in_ me!

I want to die when he starts moving inside me; the intrusion so unwanted, so forced, tearing my soul to pieces.

Shattering my world.

Again.

"NO!" I rasp, barely above a whisper, the effort hurting tremendously. I thought it was going to come out as a scream and I grip my uncooperative throat, trying to soothe the pain.

He looks down at me and grins maliciously. I brace myself from the expected hurt when he thrusts forward, but there isn't much. It's like he fits me. Somehow that makes me even angrier. It could at least hurt properly, like the other one did. It would seem fitting.

He keeps moving, long, heavy strokes, making groans that make me want to throw up.

_You piece of SHIT!_

He might have won so far, but I can at least refuse to submit. Ever. I slam my hands up to connect with his chest, I pinch and claw, trying to reach his throat and face. He throws my arms right back down, gripping my upper arms with each of his hands and presses me I down onto the mattress. He grins and increases his speed, continuously, fluidly, moving in me. I'm not spared from anything. I feel every little motion, every touch, his erratic breathing, his cramped hold on me.

Everything.

"Oh, Leese, had I known you'd feel this good I'd have come here sooner," he pants. He keeps holding me down as my body unwillingly rocks with his pace. I dig my heels into the bed and jerk upwards, trying to shove him off me. He holds on and falls on top of me, his chest on mine, his skin meeting my skin.

_Close! He's too close!_

"Mmmm, that's better," he groans, his voice disgustingly thick. Aroused. "That's nice… fight… come on. I like it when you jerk for me."

"Fuck you," I spit, still rasping, and bolt upwards again, but he's holding tight around my upper body, like a forced hug, pressing my arms to my sides, giving me very little space to move.

"Feisty," he breathes between thrusts. "Love that…in a woman."

I twist and pull, feeling each moment of how he rubs against me, how he plunges deeper and deeper. I can't believe that it barely hurts. I'm a bit sore, but it's far from as painful as I knew it would be. It's as if he's molded himself onto me. Into me.

He kisses my throat and bites me, softly at first and then with more force, and chuckles when I hiss at him. He licks the awful scar on my chest, caresses it with unexpectedly soft lips, and then starts circling my nipple with his tongue, licking, nibbling, sending spikes of distress from my breast throughout my body. I rasp at him to stop, but he captures my mouth and kisses me again. This time he isn't as rough and I almost get the sense that he's looking for a response from me.

_Keep looking!_

And I don't dare to hurt him. Not really hurt him.

Not like I want to.

I think of my father, and then I feel too filthy to think about him and erase him from my mind.

I don't know how long it lasts. It seems like forever. I keep squirming, each move I make shoving us forcefully around on my bed, as he insistently follows tightly, his pace increasing, his breathing getting quicker. I don't know where I end and he begins. I don't think I'll ever know again. My skin has come off. My walls are down.

There's a tension, some kind of pain I don't recognize, building in my lower belly. For a little while I think I'm actually sick, and that I'm going to throw up all over the both of us. Then it extends further and spreads along the inside of my thighs, making my muscles clench and the tender flesh he's pounding into start to tingle and twitch.

I refuse.

There's no way my body is responding to his…, to this, to _him_. I must be ill. I try to ignore the ache that keeps increasing, but soon I'm unable think of anything else. I slam my arms, the little movement they got, into his sides and I scream hoarsely at him, I curse him and buck my hips. I pinch his arms hard and hear him groan, but he doesn't try to get free, and as the tingling increases I have to hold on to something, because it feels like I'm tilting, like I'm floating.

I need him to stop because I'm not gonna…

There's just no way…

Not with him.

"STOP," I manage to rasp, a little louder than before. "Please, stop."

_Not like this!_


	6. Chapter 6

**6**

_Haven't you hurt me enough?_

My clawing on his shoulders turn into a clenching, desperate hold as I try not to fall into the abyss. _I don't wan… _The first wave is a long, almost hurting, squeezing of my insides, then there's another, and another, and a rapid wave of unstoppable convulsions shoots through me as Jackson's relentless pounding sends me into a raving orgasm.

I bite my teeth hard together not to make a noise; I will never let him know what he did to me. Never. The pain from my throat intermingles in a perverted way with the uncontrollable eruption of physical pleasure, making it even more intense.

I'm left breathless and trembling, my body reveling in the unholy bliss as my soul crumbles and blackens with shame.

It's never happened before. Not like this, not without having to work for it, and certainly not if I haven't wanted it to. It's as if he fits me perfectly and has rubbed me exactly the right way.

The very thought makes me cringe.

Or maybe it's the fear, the rage, and the adrenaline that's heightened my senses and that have made me susceptible?

I don't know, and I don't know if I'm more disgusted by him or by myself in this moment.

As I fight to push what just happened out of my mind, his muscles suddenly come to life under my palms, and he tenses, falling on top of me with a throaty groan.

"Oh, GOD, Leese!" he gasps as he presses his lips against mine once more.

Bending my head away, I _feel_. I feel him twitching and jerking inside my still quivering and tender vagina. His hold around me tightens until I can barely breathe, and then he exhales with a slight shudder.

I let go of him as if I just burned my hands on his skin and turn my head further to the side, avoiding his gaze, his unreal eyes, and the triumphant leer I know must be there. I won't let him see my tears, my humiliation, or my pain.

He can take my body, or my life, but he can never take _me_.

At least that's what I've been trying to tell myself for a long time. Now I'm not so sure. _You gave IN! You LET him. _

That _he_ would push it to the end… is no greater surprise, even if it isn't less nauseating. But that I… That I took a part in this, somehow. That my body betrayed me. Did I want this on some level? Had I expected him to come here? Had I known he would?

I don't want to think about that just yet.

Possibly never.

::

She fights me every little bit of the way, and it amuses me. No, it excites me. Like hell. I actually like that she doesn't give in. The little devil in her that just refuses to give up, just the same I came here to quell, is now what drives me further, what pulls me towards the edge. I'd have thought she'd be a puddle of humiliation by now, that this was her weakness, but she uses every little piece of strength she's got to try to get me off her.

It makes it all the better. I don't know how much longer I can hold out. I want to savor this because deep down I know it won't be happening again, and she's insanely beautiful where she lies beneath me, struggling, panting, flushing, cursing.

It's her spark, her relentless fighting spirit, the insanity in it, which makes her so fucking attractive. And all the secrets she carries.

No. Carried.

I know her now.

And she's _mine_.

I've seen to that. I have marked her. I've made sure she'll forever know who's really in charge. And the raw thrill, the power trip, in that almost makes me come instantly.

Her breathing changes and her body stiffens. She hurts me; her nails scratch my upper arms. I should punish her for that, but I really don't care. I don't have much left, and the impulses from my aching groin are getting more and more intense. She inhales deeply and surprises me by gripping my shoulders, like holding on for dear life. That's a pleasant change from the beating. And then I feel it. A rhythmic clenching, squeezing me, sucking me deeper, urging me to go faster.

For a moment I'm confused.

Then I know, and a grin spreads across my face. _Now, THAT'S a surprise. _

Miss Lisa Reisert is having a fucking orgasm.

_Did you want this too? _

I begin to tilt, staggering on the border of my own release. I capture her mouth again, and kiss her fiercely, transferring my whole wave of arousal into the meeting between our lips. Then I can't hold back any longer. _She_ makes me come. It's insane. My cock twitches to life and I fill her with what feels like endless streams of heated fluids, my head spinning, my mind shattering.

_GOD!_

I fall on top of her, totally spent, and with an infinite feeling of gratitude. _Holy hell, Leese. That was so good!_ _Fuck, I hope you won't start fighting again anytime soon. I just have to catch my breath…_

She doesn't move any more.

And I'm unable to even lift a limb, let alone rise. Her heart beats hard, matching my own. My panting slowly subsides, and so does hers. I might be crushing her, or not, I feel too good to care, and she doesn't try to push me off anyways. Maybe she liked this? After a while, as I go soft and the tension leaves my body, I slip out of her and push myself up to sit next to her on the bed, not until now realizing how much I hurt all over. I feel giddy and excited, and at the same time comfortably relaxed. This wasn't bad. Not bad at all.

_And YOU enjoyed it too._ I almost smile.

Inhaling, I turn to her. "Now that wasn't-" _-as bad as you thought… _I instantly forget what I wanted to say as I see her. She's still in the same position, flat on her back, unmoving, her legs spread with some of the wetness leaking out between her legs, tinged with blood, staining the crumpled sheet beneath her. Her eyes are dark and seem to stare into nothing. Her livid, intelligent eyes look absolutely empty, and it stabs me with unexpected strength; the thing I have done.

_I didn't…_

I've never seen such eyes before.

_Yeah, you did. _

It's as if they're dead, and still not.

_Kill her. _

I want to shake her, force her, gut her. She needs to snap the fucking out of it.

_Now._

I feel accused by her silence. I clench and unclench my fists, the recently achieved relaxation leaving my body, almost as if leaking through the bed I sit on.

_Hey! At least you're alive! Move!_

Her motionless posture twists the knife in my chest further.

_What the fuck have I done? _

_Fuck! _

_Fuck! _

_Fuck!_

I'm back behind the door again. Breathing. Waiting. She enters the room, I say something about how she shouldn't have resisted me, and then I bury my knife in her chest, watching her slither to the floor in a growing pool of her own blood.

By now I'm half way through the next state, my mind calm, the scores evened out.

But I'm not.

I'm sitting next to a pale, even now beautiful, woman who's been brutally savaged. _By me!_ I have raped. How the hell did that happen? I've never… done that. Ever.

_I have raped._

I look at my hands. _Filthy._ I still feel her on me. Me in her. As my heart begins to calm, I realize I lost control.

Again.

And I don't even fucking remember how or when it happened.

Again.

::

He falls heavily on top of me, exhaling as if he just took his last breath. _Oh, I wish!_ I want to throw up, but at the same time I'm numb. Uncaring. The worst thing I could've ever imagining happening to me – again – has just happened. It doesn't get worse. My body is no longer mine. It will never be just mine again. Even if he rapes me one more time, or kills me, or beats me… I can't think of anything that could be worse.

I feel his heartbeats against mine as he still lays on me. They're rapid, thumping wildly in his chest. Just like mine.

I can't move. I don't even try to move. It's useless now.

He has stopped holding me.

I'm empty.

I stare into the roof and beyond. I see myself as a child. I see a teenager, high school, friends, boyfriends, laughter, a career, the rape, a blue-eyed man on a plane. I see everything up until tonight.

Then I don't see anything else. There's no future. Nothing.

I wish he'd kill me.

I isolate myself from the feeling of his skin against mine. It's as if I withdraw to somewhere else, deep inside my body, as if my skin is cold clothes on a winter's day and I try to avoid the contact. It's a place where I know I'll stay.

For as long as needed.

He's gone softer in me. Carefully, almost trembling, he pushes himself up and away from me. He doesn't seem as furious any more. Like the fight has drained from him too. I still don't move. He disappears from my vision, but I feel the bed sink down to the right of me.

It's blissfully quiet.

I sense a change in the room. I don't know what's going on, and I don't really care.

_Just leave me alone._

I hear him inhale and speak. Then I don't hear anything.

When he touches my shoulder, I jerk violently, almost jumping off the bed, then I finally move and turn my back on him, folding myself into a tight knot of pain, my face hidden, my chest covered.

I remember him in me.

I don't want to remember.

_Please, kill me._


	7. Chapter 7

**7**

Turned away from him, I curl up into a little ball.

I'm not afraid of him any more. There's nothing, absolutely nothing, more he can do to me. If he'd bring out his knife again, I wouldn't care, I wouldn't resist. _Just shove it in!_ My self-contempt is too much to handle and I don't know where I'll go from here. How I'll manage.

_You GAVE yourself over!_

He lays an arm around me from behind and I slap it away. He's begging me for forgiveness; it comes off him in waves, making my back tingle from his presence and his silent pleading. I feel his anguish, his regret, but it's much too late for 'I'm sorrys'.

I feel the question heavy in the air between us. Can I forgive him?

_No._

_I don't know. _

_NO!_

I don't want to know that he's human, that he can feel remorse. I don't need to remember the man I saw in him when we first met, the smile in his eyes, the connection we had. I need to keep seeing him as a monster, as a murderer and, now, a rapist.

_I don't pity YOU!_

I wish he would kill me.

_PLEASE, just leave!_

::_  
_

I want to touch her. I want to tell her everything's going to be okay. But I can't, because it won't. I want to, no need to, let her know how sorry I am. I never intended for this to happen. I'm beginning to realize I probably never even intended to kill her in the first place. I just wanted… I don't know any more what I wanted. I don't know who I am. This isn't me.

It's as if I'm raw inside; as if something is gnawing a deep black hole in me. I barely recognize it; it's been a long time since I felt anything like it. Guilt. It's my conscience that has awakened, the recognition that I've done something so terribly wrong that it's…

…irreparable.

I don't know how I'll continue from here. How I'll live with myself. I don't even know how to get out of her apartment. How the fuck can I take the first step?

I need her to forgive me, or I'm doomed.

_Kill her. Kill her and be done with it. Then you'll know she's not around accusing you. Don't leave the witness. _

It suddenly sounds appealing. I'd be on familiar ground, and _she_ would be forever rid of her pain. It would even be merciful. I glance at my pants, discarded next to the bed. Half of the knife's sheath is visible in the pile of clothes. I bend forward, snap open the leather cover and pull out the blade.

_It'd be the best thing to do. _

She doesn't move from her fetal position. The side of her face and throat look like she's been run over by a train. _That'd be you. _She has several sets of dark finger-shaped bruises on each hip. That'd _be you._ And black marks on the insides of her thighs. _That'd be you too._

I place my free hand on her shoulder. She shrugs it off wordlessly, her posture stiff, her muscles tense. Still proud, still unyielding.

_Come on… It'd be so easy. Just lean over and cut her throat and then get the fuck outta here. It'll be fast. _My palms itch from the memory of the tender skin on her neck, her rapid pulse, and her efforts to inhale.

I sit next to her for a long time, fiddling with the knife in my hand, not knowing what to do. It just isn't as easy as it should be. I don't really feel like wasting her any more. _Maybe there's hope for me after all?_ I look at the woman next to me - at what I've done - and seriously doubt that.

I should leave, but I don't know if she wants me to. I don't know if I want to…

_Talk to me._

But she doesn't speak to me again. And she doesn't move.

Not once.

::

The mattress rocks when he stands. I lie frozen and listen to the slight rustling sounds of his feet on the carpet, the faint whispers when he pulls on his clothes. I think nothing. I close my eyes and clench my teeth when I hear the familiar rattling from his belt.

Then there's silence.

Forever.

"Leese…"

His shaky voice in the quiet room startles me and I can't help flinching.

I don't turn to look at him.

He doesn't speak again.

Footsteps follow; slow, hesitant. Then a little faster; fading.

I inhale as I hear the click of the front door opening and I wait for a long time before I hear it close again. Then I finally exhale.

I don't move. I don't think. I don't feel.

I wait.

The raining appears to have stopped. Outside there's a constant wailing, complaining noise from the wind, making the windows sound like they will crack any moment, and somewhere in the house a toilet is flushed. _Who's up at this hour?_ _Why didn't anybody hear us? Why didn't I make more noise? Why didn't I scream and scream and scream?_

I lie in the same position for what feels like hours before I put my palms against the mattress and push myself up. A raspy groan escapes me when my hurting body protests against the treatment.

_Good._

I want to feel the pain. I need it. It keeps me sane.

The grayish light from the early dawn is barely visible between the almost closed curtains. Out there a new day has begun. In my room it's still dark.

Stumbling to the bathroom, still naked, the inside of my thighs slick and sticky, I wince with every step. I clamp my eyes closed from the harsh white light as I flick the switch on the wall. Even my fingertips are sore. I glance at my hand that's still on the switch, and realize that most of my nails are broken.

I lift my gaze to the mirror, recognizing that I stood here only a few hours ago. In another life as it turned out. I still don't feel anything as I look at what he's done to me; I just study the facts, contemplate what's left of me. I have crescent-shaped bluish-black bruises under both my eyes and to the left of my chin. My lips are swollen and bruised, as is my nose, and there's dried blood in both nostrils. I have a cut on my throat; it's smaller than I'd have imagined, but what's worse is the broad, purplish strangle marks that surrounds it.

_Like a leash._ Like I'm a slave. His slave. Up for grabbing.

A sudden wave of nausea surges through me and I dry retch in the sink several times, my eyes watering from the pain in my throat, the taste of gall sour in my mouth. When I'm done, I lean my forehead against the cold mirror and close my eyes. It isn't large enough to show my body below the scar on my chest, and for that I'm thankful. I've seen enough.

I should go to the hospital.

I should call the police.

I should…

Should. But I can't go through it all again. Examinations. Cold instruments. Questions. Long hours with strangers touching me with pretend-caring hands from the inside and outside at the same time, turning me inside-out, twisting my mind, making me remember things I want to forget.

And they won't find him anyway.

I just know they won't.

I turn on the shower and step inside; the scalding water burning my skin raw, enabling me to focus on the physical pain instead. I stand for a long time with my face turned up in the stream, my eyes closed. Unthinking. Unmoving. Then I remember the peacefulness I felt last night, when I had just showered and was having a cup of tea. Before I knew he was here. And then the first sob wrecks my chest.

It's like opening a dam. I can't stop. I scream hoarsely into the water, gulping for air when I run out of cries. My knees buckle and I slither to the bottom of the tub, drenched in heated steam, in pouring wetness, and in sorrow over what's lost.

I sit there forever, with the water streaming over me, hugging my knees and cry. I still feel his hands on me, his heartbeats against mine, his breath, his scent, his taste in my mouth. I still feel him in me.

I wash, and wash, and wash. Soap, lather, rinse, soap, lather, rinse. I want to clean my insides too and think of drinking chlorine. Think of death.

I miss when I should have called in sick to work.

When I finally do, I call it 'flu' and they tell me I sound terrible.

_Yeah!_

Then I wrap a blanket tightly around my body and fall into a restless sleep on the couch in my living room. I remember that I haven't even checked whether my front door is locked or not. But I don't get up to do it.

What's the point?

Sooner or later I'll have to rise, get up, and get out. I know that. But I also know that I need time.

A lot.

And I still feel his skin on mine.

I don't know if it'll ever go away.

::

I throw my laptop so hard into the wall that the black plastic square and its electrical components shatter all over the floor.

I'll have the surveillance equipment removed from her apartment.

I have no right.

I drive until sunrise when I almost crash my car into a meeting truck, the near-death experience leaving me panting and trembling by the side of the road. I'm not even sure if I fell asleep or if I did it on purpose.

In a random motel I drink myself into a stupor.

I still feel her soft skin on mine, her warmth under my palms.

I won, I beat her.

I lost.

**Three Months After**

The pen is steady as I write. I examine the feelings in my heart, the flutter in my belly, and I know it's the right thing to do. The right thing in a world with so many wrongs.

Yeah, there'll be questions, but since nobody really knows anything_ dangerous_, it won't be that difficult.

'_November 15, 2005_

_It's as if a little piece of heaven came down into the hell I've been living in. I know it will help me mend; it'll help me focus on something else. I need it, it gives me something to live for, and I'm not afraid. I am not afraid. Even if _he_ would come now, I wouldn't be afraid, because I just don't think he… would… dare.' _

I contemplate the words before me with a frown. Then I nod. This is the truth. My truth.

'_I just can't explain it better.'_

The pen slips out of my grip and drops to the floor. I fall back on the bed, pressing my little journal to my chest, closing my eyes.

My lips twitch into a half smile and a tear slides from the corner of my eye, along the side of my cheek and onto the sheet. I'm not entirely happy, but I'm not that sad either. Not any more.

I'll live.

There _is _life.

And this is _my_ life.

**One Year Later**

Funny how the things you can't have is what you want the most.

I watch them from a distance.

Her and the baby girl.

I will never approach her again. Never. I wouldn't dare to disturb the peace. The beauty. The life I can't take any part in. She hurts me by living on, by being breathtakingly beautiful and strong, by making a life for herself and our child. And I need it badly. The hurt. I deserve it.

I watch them. My girls, feeling a twisted sense of pride over what I've achieved. It's something I knew I'd never experience, but there they are: _my_ baby and _my _woman. Proof that I'm human.

Lisa would surely disagree.

_Lisa. _

I think she suspects I'm around from time to time. She suspects, and she punishes me by refusing to hide, by refusing to be afraid any more. And it works. They exist in this world, and I am left alone and confused.

Shattered.

The little one has my eyes. I would want to hold her. Just once. I bet she feels soft. Like her mom. But I'll never know her. She can't know me.

I can't figure out for my life why she kept it. _My child._ No one would have blamed her if she'd have gotten rid of it. _My daughter._ Not even me.

This bounds us.

Forever.

I can never leave her, and I can never be with her.

I can't even hate her any more.

I hate myself.

I wonder if things could have been differently.

::

THE END


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